Taken
by Messiah91
Summary: Semi-AU halfway through "Scarecrow" when the boys split up: Sam Winchester finds himself at the mercy of a man who wants to keep him...and never let him go. Dean finds himself rushing frantically to save his brother, and himself. A twisted fic.
1. Part One

_Disclaimer: I don't own the boys of _Supernatural_. I merely trot them out for my own amusement._

_Author's Note: The following two-part fic is _incredibly _dark. Many of you will not like the direction it goes in. There's Limp!Sam—with healthy doses of rape, drugging, domination, submissions, and psychological torture thrown in for kicks. I don't know where this came from, but it struck and so I wrote it. As always: read with caution, relish with joy._

---

Josh Carter had been waiting all day for something to happen. And then it did. Well, not an it—a what—but a _who_.

He was easily six-feet tall: that much Josh could tell just by the way the kid had to stoop to walk into the bar. And the way he carried himself, the way he swung his shoulders, sort of hunched downward, and the way he moved his feet in a casually awkward shuffle, it all sort of cobbled together an image, instantly, in Josh's mind, of who this guy was. He was a boy masquerading as a man.

_But a really cute boy—hell, he's _fine.

Twenty-two, or three, maybe, on the outside, was how old the guy had to be. In fact, Josh thought, there was a distinct possibility he wasn't even old enough to drink. And yet here he was, and he was walking right over, getting ready to sit down right next to him. _Perfect_. Josh could use a fun night.

"You from outta town?" he asked as the younger man settled himself in at the next stool.

"Huh?" the kid replied, turning to him curiously. Whoever he was, the kid had some seriously nice eyes. They were deep, brown pools, flecked with youth. If he was being honest with himself, they sort of reminded Josh of a puppy.

"You don't seem like you're from around here is all," Josh said back, turning slightly.

"Oh. No, I guess not—I mean, no, I'm not from around here." Absently the kid ran a hand over his face and through his hair. It was a tired gesture.

"Just passin' through?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

Josh nodded at this news. It's what he had expected—what he had hoped for.

"Got a place to stay yet, kid?" He hoped his tone was right on point: equal parts commanding and benevolent.

For a second his new companion paused, uncertainly, and Josh new he might have found an opening. This could be his chance to have some _real _fun tonight, for once—things like this happened so rarely for him, after all.

"I'm not trying to be nosey or anything, but you look a little out of it, and I've got a house that's too big for me anyway. It's just about five minutes away, so…" Here he trailed off, leaving the invite dangling between them. For a second he noticed the kid actually considering it. He smiled to himself.

"What's your name?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Well Sam, why don't you grab a drink and think it over for a bit. After all, we just met. I wouldn't want to rush you into anything." Here Josh pauses for a quick, but hearty, laugh. "I don't want to give you the impression I'm some freak."

At this Sam actually smiled—mega-watt—and shook his head. "It never crossed my mind."

Josh smiled in return and nodded. "Good. In fact, why don't I buy you a drink, and while you're waiting you can run in the back and clean yourself up. You look like you've just been half run-over."

"Is it that bad?" Sam asked, taking a moment to inspect his clothes a little worriedly.

"Oh, it's not terrible. But I don't want to have to drag your dusty butt into my clean house and get it all messy." Again Josh smiled, hoping he came across in just the right way. Apparently he did, because Sam nodded to himself twice and got up from the stool.

"No, I guess I wouldn't want to do something like that to the guy who's loaning me his house for the night. Ok, I'll just run to the back for a second."

"Great," Josh said, sort of pushing Sam jokingly along that way. A few feet away Sam turned back to him with a twinkle in his eye and said, "I'll have a vodka on the rocks, by the way."

"Can do," he replied. And then Sam turned back towards the bathrooms, and Josh noted happily that as he moved away, he seemed almost to bounce like a little boy.

_God this is going to be fun_.

Three minutes later the bartender came back with Sam's drink and set it on the counter. It took Josh exactly two seconds to slip a roofie in it unnoticed.

Five more minutes after that, Sam came back, smiling a bit and looking better than before.

Josh looked at him winked. "You clean up good, kid."

"Thanks," Sam said, smiling even bigger. He sat down and grabbed the drink.

"Bottoms up," and then he downed it.

Quickly Josh looked at his watch and began a mental countdown in his head: 30, 29, 28…

Twenty-seven seconds later, things were beginning to fall into place for Josh's evening. Sam's eyes began to glaze over and he seemed to sway in his seat. His mouth hung open and he stared semi-vacantly at the bar.

"Hey Sam, you're looking a little groggy. Do you need to head back to the bathroom?"

"Uhhnh—" The younger man turned his head toward Josh and opened his mouth to answer, but Josh never gave him the chance.

"You know what, why wait? Come on, you can get cleaned up at my place." With that, Josh grabbed Sam around the bicep and lifted him from the stool, slinging his arm over his shoulder. True, Sam was taller, but Josh was well-muscled and easily half-dragged/half-carried Sam's stumbling frame out to his car.

He opened the passenger door and slide Sam into the seat. As he moved the seat belt across his torso, Josh's hand grazed the kid's crotch and he moaned in his drugged-state. Josh just smiled wickedly and quickly moved himself behind the wheel, putting petal to the metal all the way back to his house.

Once he got back to his dark driveway, Josh took a moment to think things through. Here he was with a prime piece of meat all ready for a night of fun, half-passed-out in the seat next to him. But _what to do_?

He turned to inspect his new toy. Josh's eyes moved over the kid's thick brown hair, which, boyishly, partially covered his eyes and then his eyes traveled past Sam's chiseled face down to the kid's well-developed chest, hidden even as it was by several layers of clothing. _This kid has some serious body issues if he's covering up that much. Guess I can fix that too_, he thought to himself mischievously. Josh's eyes then moved down from Sam's broad shoulders, past his 30' waist, to his crotch, and it was there—or, more specifically, it was _that_—which made up his mind what to do. It was clear right away the kid had a pretty big dick. Even through his pants Josh could see the semi-outlined fleshy mound. And it was just sitting there, waiting to be brought to life as its owner dozed in his stupor.

The drug would keep Sam out for most of the night, but if things went as Josh wanted, and he figured they would, there wouldn't be much of a Sam Winchester left after tonight. So he had to get moving. And he _had_ to get Sam's pants off.

"Ok then, kid, easy does it—that's right, out you go." Josh again had slung Sam's arm over his shoulder, and was now trying to maneuver him out of the passenger seat and into a semi-stumble towards the door. But the drug was making things a little tedious. Dragging a dazed, very tall, very strong young man required strength and patience, and though Josh had both of those things, he also had a raging hard-on, and it was hard not to control himself.

Slowly—_very _slowly—they made their way to the front door. "We're almost there buddy, and then we can get you cleaned up," Josh said to Sam as he awkwardly opened his own front door while balancing the bigger man.

"Uhhnh—" was all Sam replied with.

"Ok then, easy does it. Come on…yeah, let's just sit you down right _here._" And then Josh is sort of shoving Sam down on his living room couch, not ten feet inside the doorway. And Sam just lays there, sprawled out, his head tossed back and his mouth wide open. He looks at once both very drunk and very, _very_, vulnerable.

Josh moves quickly. He strips his shirt off over his head and throws it in the corner. Turning back to his new catch, Josh sizes up the task before him. He was 5'10, 185 pounds, with wavy, short brown hair. He's lean, but well-muscled, and he should be more than capable of raping some twentysomething from out of town.

Except Josh doesn't just want to fuck Sam Winchester—he wants to _mind _fuck him, too.

"Come here, big boy," Josh says, laughing to himself as he squats down next to Sam's sprawled form and begins to turn him over. He grunts several times with the effort. But just knowing that soon he'll be able to penetrate this Winchester kid deeper than anyone has before is reward enough. (The Winchester kid in question, for his part, merely laid on the couch, nearly unmoving. If someone had looked hard enough, they may have detected that Sam's eyes were moving a little, frantically, beneath their daze—but it was all for naught. Josh was a pro, and even a demon hunter couldn't fight a date-rape drug.)

Finally Sam is lying flat on his stomach, bubble butt sticking straight up into the air. For a second Josh contemplates stripping him naked and taking him right there, but no—he will wait. There are steps to be taken if this is going to be done right. You don't completely obliterate someone's mental progression, after all, without a bit of ritual.

And so first Josh, albeit a bit excitedly, slips off Sam's shirts, one after the other, off his arms and down his back, until the hunter is left naked from the waist up. _Wow_. Just for a moment, Josh forgets to breath; that's how stunning this kid's chest is. Scars delicately criss-cross his skin at random intervals, and underneath his muscles ripple outward from his six-pack in perfect waves. It's beautiful. _What does this guy do for a living? He's not like any farm hand I've ever seen_… _Whatever. This is going to be better than I thought_.

First things first: Josh moves around from the opposite end of the couch to where Sam's face lies planted downward in the cushions. With a wicked grin he unbuckles his belt and let's his pants fall to his ankles. Reaching into Calvin Klein's, Josh grabs his throbbing cock and pulls it out. With his other hand he lightly slaps Sam on the face, urging him to stir.

"Hey, buddy, wake up. You sort of passed out on me back there. You ok? Hey, you can go to sleep for as long as you want in a second; but first I need you to dink this—ok? Aren't you hungry?" With that Josh ran his cock across Sam's dazed lips, leaving a glistening trail.

"Here, try this." Josh gently opens Sam's mouth and slips his cock in while at the same time reaching behind to the back of the young man's head, pushing it forward.

At first, Sam seems to sort of choke on his "snack," but Josh keeps up the rhythmic thrusting, and after a few seconds Sam begins to give his first ever blowjob. Over and over again Josh fucks the poor kid's face, in earnest, and at the end of each he spasms and cums deep into his throat, holding down Sam's head until he swallows every last drop.

Finally, he pulls his dick out of Sam's mouth. He lifts Sam's chin up until their eyes meet. "That taste good, kid—you like that?" Sam sort of moans in response, dazedly and very much confused, in response. _I'll take that as a yes_.

Josh slips off his underwear, ready now for the main event, as he moves down the couch toward Sam's jeans. The moment of truth is fast approaching; the night is heating up. He rubs one hand absent mindedly over Sam's wide, muscular chest while with the other he unbuckles the kid's pants. The first thing he notices is the inch or two of Fruit of the Loom briefs that stick up out of his jeans. What a boy scout.

He climbs up the couch on his knees and then quickly takes off Sam's jeans, leaving only a firm round butt pointed in the air, wrapped in bright white cotton and elastic.

_And now the fun begins_.

Josh lowers Sam's tighty-whities, and once more inserts himself into the Winchester. His dick throbs and he pushes himself in and out of the younger man. And then he begins to talk.

"Sam? Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me very closely—_very_." He hears a moan and keeps talking. "You like this, don't you, having a big strong man fuck a poor dazed stud like you senseless; you like losing control. I want you to focus on that, if you can. I know things are a little fuzzy for you, but just focus, if you can, on what it feels like to have all your power slip away, to be dominated and completely submit, to have your identity subsumed by another person. Feel my thick cock in your ass, feel it fucking you and focus on that. Let it consume you." Josh feels himself getting worked up; this is what he does, after all. And it's been so long since he actually had a decent hunk to manipulate and control.

"Ok Sam, are you listening. Good. You're focusing in on everything you feel slipping away—and it's all starting to slip away. Your memories, your past. But not just those things: your intelligence and your personality, it's all fading. But it's going somewhere. You can feel it running toward my cock, because I'm the guy who dominated you, who forced you to realize that you're nothing without bending to someone else's will. It's only right that I take this last thing from you, right? Good. Here it comes, all of it, it's all collecting in my big, meaty, dick. And I'm getting ready to cum inside you. And once I do that, you're going to go off—explode. As I cum, I will claim you, forever; you'll be mine. And everything that you've given me so far will vanish—_gone_. All of it: you'll just be a strapping, dumb stud. Your IQ will disintegrate; a box of rocks will be smarter than you are. But you'll be so _happy_—full of bliss. And the only thing you'll ever think again is nothing; you'll be a mental vacuum. But each time you hear my voice, you will obey, ok?" He feels himself getting so excited again. He'd forgotten how alive he felt each time he did this.

"Ready, kid?" He doesn't wait for an answer.

One, two, three times more Josh thrusts his cock in and out of Sam, and on the fourth time he cums, and at the same time, so does Sam. The youngest Winchester heaves against Josh, almost rebelliously, but it does nothing but pull them closer together. They spasm against each other—both yelling, both thrusting.

Strings of sticky cum have shot against the couch cushion by the time Josh finishes. As he gets up he pushes Sam down against his own mess, letting him roll in it, relishing his new power. He runs to the bathroom to clean himself up and when he comes back Sam is exactly where he'd been left, lying in a small pool of his own jizz, glistening with sweat.

"Stand up," Josh said, commanding. And Sam did.

He moves closer, and peers into Sam's eyes. His work was good, solid, because nothing is looking back at him. He reaches down and forcefully strokes on the boy's cock, enjoying the bucking moan he gets in response.

Josh looks around for a second and then pulls up the FTL briefs from where they're pooled around Sam's ankles. He snaps the waistband once against Sam's skin as they're pulled in place and then he smacks the kid's butt, playfully.

Smiling, he steps back to admire his handiwork:

Sam Winchester had come into the bar earlier that day an alert, intelligent, mostly-upstanding young man who just wanted to get a drink and forgot about his problems with his brother for a few minutes. But in his despondency he was also overtly trusting, and so here now he stood, having been, over the last hour, drugged, stripped naked, face-fucked, raped, and permanently mentally regressed.

From a twenty-two year-old demon hunter who wore layers of plaid and bulky jackets to a drooling infantilized hunk standing in nothing but cum-dried white Fruit of the Loom briefs in front of the handsome thirtysomething who now controlled his every action.

What a difference a day—a night—can make.

---

_Author's Note: Ok, that was the first half. Next up, Dean struggles to discover just what, exactly, happened to his baby brother. But when he finally tracks Sam (and Josh) down, nothing goes like he planned._


	2. Part Two

_Author's Note: This is the second part of this two-shot. In it, Dean gets his confrontation with Josh...but it definitely doesn't go as expected. Also: John makes a surprise cameo to tie up loose ends? Oh, and this chapter in particular owes a huge debt to a certain story, "Born Again." Read on._

_-__--_

_Four days later…_

"Would you like some more coffee, hun?"

The waitresses' pleasant, heavily-accented, voice breaks into Dean's thoughts. He looks up, bleary eyes meeting a perky face, smeared with lipstick.

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Ok then. I'll be back to check on you in a bit." She smiles at him and walks on to her other tables. He tries to nod in return but can't muster the energy.

It's been almost 100 hours since he lost his little brother, and he's beginning to go a little crazy.

Right now Dean Winchester is sitting in some diner in the middle of a nowhere town. Except this isn't just any old nowhere town—Dean is 98% sure this is where Sam ended up. Before he vanished.

_No, not vanished—vanished makes it sound impossible, like a magic trick. And Sammy is no fuckin' David Blaine_.

It's taken him more than four days to get this far—four days too long. And all along part of the back of his mind was whispering away: you won't find him; you can't; you're too late; he's _gone_.

But still here he sits. God he's so tired. But he's not going to stop. He won't; he can't.

Faintly, Dean hears the ding at the front door as some trucker walks in for his daily slice of pie. Usually, in a place like this, full of flannel and smoke and rough language, Dean would be in heaven; he'd practically grown up in dumps like this his whole life. The sizzle of grease was like the soundtrack of his life; and the heavy accents of the dumpy waitresses were like—

Stop: enough with the overwrought metaphors. Sure he was tired, but he wasn't crazy. And he sure as _hell _wasn't going to crack now. He just had to stay focus.

"Hey," he called out to his waitress, trying to get her attention. "I think I will have another cup of coffee."

"Great, hon. I'll bring it right out." This time Dean actually musters a sincere smile in return, and he notices her slight blush as she heads over to the pot. Even run ragged and distressed, he was still a ladies' man.

His waitress is back with his coffee. As she sets it down, she binds over just a little more. If it were any other time—say, if Sam were here and _not _God-knows-where—Dean might be a little touched; he might even play along a little, just to make his brother uncomfortable. But his brother isn't here. There's no one to mess with. He is alone.

The waitress soon leaves, slightly disgruntled but none the worse for wear.

Dean takes a sip of his coffee. It's bitter. _Damn waitress_.

When did he start cursing the wait staff? When did he start calling them "wait staff"? What the hell is wrong with him?

Sam. _Always a pain in my ass, aren't ya little brother?_

His jaunty inner-monologue does nothing to relieve his distress, his annoyance, at the current situation.

He takes another sip of the coffee winces. It's that bad. He considers just leaving—thinks better of it—thinks better of that—and gets up, ready to dash.

The world spins once, and he steadies himself against the booth.

_What the hell_?

Things are getting fuzzy around the edges—wobbly. The coffee was laced, but Dean's too slow on the uptake.

"I think I'm going to be sick…" he says. And then someone is by his side, holding him by the arm, steadying him. Turning, he narrows his eyes and shakes his head, trying to clear his vision. It doesn't really help, but right before he passes out, Dean could have sworn he knew who the guy was that had kept him from falling to the floor.

_Sam…_

--

The room is dark, and for a second all Dean can do is sort of groan lowly and quietly to himself.

He hears a noise in the corner.

"Hey there, I'm glad you're finally getting up. You've been out for a good day-and-a-half."

Dean doesn't know whose speaking. Slowly he eases himself up against the headboard of the bed he's laying in. The room is still dark, but his eyes are adjusting. There's a man, dark-haired, average height, in the corner; that must be who spoke.

"Call me Josh," the man says as he walks forward and smiles.

"Where am I?" Dean asks in return. He really wants to come across as menacing, to intimidate this guy into submission, but he just feels _off. _He can't quite place it, but he feels weak, somehow.

"My house. I was at the diner when you passed out—you looked really sick. So I brought you back here to rest up." The oddness of Josh's answer doesn't stick with Dean. His head is too muddled, too slowly clearing, for it to.

He rubs his hand across his face in an attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes. "How long did you say I was out?"

"A good thirty hours, I'd say."

"Jeez. Must have been some kind of bug I had." Josh nods.

"Want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot." Dean nods; Josh turns and walks out, clearing intending for his new guest to follow him.

Cautiously Dean eases himself up off the bed. His clothes are wrinkled and his shoes are off—_I should probably go find those_—but besides that and a soon-to-be-splitting headache, he feels not too terrible.

As he's walking through the doorway to follow Josh though, something strikes him. _Sam_.

But as quickly as it sticks in his head, the name slips out again. He has an image of his little brother firmly behind his eyes, and the feelings therefore associated, but it's all muted somehow—coated with Teflon.

A minute or two later, the two men are sitting down at Josh's kitchen table, and then the man is pouring Dean a cup of coffee. Before Dean has to find something to say, though, Josh begins to speak. "You're worried about your brother, aren't you?"

Disregarding the fact that Josh seemed to have read his mind, Dean is still shocked. He looks up where Josh is standing with the coffee pot.

"Yeah, I am," is all he can muster. _God_ how he wants that last sentence to come out powerful and confident, but something…

"I figured. I wasn't sure you guys were related, but now that I've spent some time around you when you're conscious, it's all clicked."

"We're brothers," Dean says.

"I can see it," Josh says, nodding. "Anyway, I'm sure you won't want to waste time drinking my mediocre coffee. I know where your brother is—"

"What? Where?"

"He's with me." The bizarreness of that statement is so large, it's hard for Dean's head to wrap around it.

_How? Why? When? Who_?

Questions ricochet against each other inside of Dean's head, and each new, more frantic, thought seems to bring him a little more clarity. Suddenly, it clicks.

He stands up. "I need my shoes."

He gets up quickly, ready to leave—he'll come back after he has a plan, after he clears his head, after he figures out what's going on with this guy, after—

"Sit down…DeeDee." Josh had spoken quietly. Dean knew he should leave—he wanted to. But he couldn't; he _had_ to sit down. Something about that name…

"That's better," Josh said. "Did you really think I was going to let you just leave, after what I did to your little brother, before I've had the chance to do anything to you?" He laughs, "I don't think so."

"What…what have you done?"

"Well it happened quite by accident, I will say that. I didn't mean to stumble upon your brother, Dean. Rather, he stumbled into _me_. But what a happy accident that turned out to be." Josh pauses for a moment. "Y'know what—why don't I just show you: Sam, come here."

Dean turns his head, half-curious and half-terrified at what he's about to see.

It isn't pretty: his brother isn't wearing anything except some underwear. _Tighty-whities_, Dean notes absently in his muddled little head. _Fruit of the Loom_.

What's worse though is the way Sam looks. His shoulders are squared and hunched forward, and he sort of slouches forward as he walks up to Josh. No, it's not just a slouch—it's a swagger. He walks like he owns the place. But that confidence doesn't extend up to his face. Sam's lips are parted and he seems to be drooling a bit; further up Dean can see that his eyes are dull. Worse than dull: _empty_.

"See, he had a bit of a breakdown, your brother. And I'm afraid it seems to be permanent," Josh explains.

"You…you…"

Josh laughs wickedly as Dean struggles. "Ok, you caught me: he didn't have a breakdown so much as I broke him down into the dumb hunk you see before you. Before, oh—you should have seen him—the way he was so worried about something, so _nervous_, about you I guess. Or angry, who knows? I took care of that pretty quick. Now he doesn't think anything at all. But he is always careful to do exactly what I say plus," Josh adds, sardonically, "he looks fuckin' great in his tighties doesn't he?" He reaches over and snaps the white elastic waistband above Sam's crotch.

This is all too much for Dean to process; he's still trying to catch up. How did this _happen_?

"You…you did this on purpose?"

"You could say that."

"I won't…I won't say anything, I promise."

"No, you won't. But if I let you go you'll be back here in a day, no more, to rescue your baby brother. No, that's not going to happen." Josh walks over to Dean, standing over him and looking down slyly.

"Let me just go ahead and explain to you what _is _going to happen. Simply. While you can still understand."

Josh laughed. Dean froze, terrified. Things were spiraling out of control…

"You're going to have a little breakdown of your own, Dean. You'll become more passive, more docile. You already feel a little like that, don't you? It's only going to get worse; it's all going to change."

"You're crazy," Dean spat out, mustering himself briefly. "And I'm leaving. Where are my shoes…where…?"

As Dean starts moving to the door, Josh steps calmly in front of him, putting his hand out on his chest. Before Dean can push it away, Josh speaks."

"Stay, DeeDee."

Dean felt suddenly woozy and almost sank to the floor before Josh caught him by the arm. Was he hallucinating, or was Josh really stripping his shirt off over his head. And why was he fumbling with his belt?

"What have you done to me…what…?"

Josh looked down at Dean.

"I did it while you were sleeping, after I'd spiked your coffee in the diner. Sam's the one who filled me in, after I'd stripped him down, I went through his things. I found your picture in his wallet. You looked possessive, and I figured there was no way someone like that was going to let a stud like Sam slip away from them easily. So I waited, and you came. And then you 'passed out' and I brought you here. And while you were enjoying your nice little drugged stupor I filled your little head with subliminal triggers, messages, and instructions that reinforced your desire to be submissive, helpless, and defenseless. All you needed was a new name to set the whole process off. And 'DeeDee' just seemed to fit perfectly: it's such a cute name for who you're going to become."

"That's impossi…"

"Getting harder to concentrate, Dean?" Josh asks, smirking. He props Dean up on the kitchen table.

"…never get away…it's like murder, it's…"

Dean can't think of the words he needed. He panicks. Sam looked at him with blank eyes as a tiny strand of drool dropped from his parted lips to slide down his chest onto his six-pack.

To his surprise, tears formed in his eyes."

"Oh don't be such a crybaby, DeeDee," Josh says brightly. "A few shots to breakdown your ego structure—it'll be a relief for you. No more worrying about your life, and your relationships, and your job—whatever it is you and Sam used to do."

"…didn't do anything…believe me…please…"

Josh acts as if he hadn't heard.

"Of course you won't be able to wear any of the clothes you used to, not like your brother. For you it'll be much simpler. You'll be much more free, though, trust me." He rubs his hands across Dean's pecs, pulling and tweaking his nipples.

"Josh…please…"

"Call me 'daddy.'"

"I—umm—dadd…daddy?"

"That's it kiddo. Now just slide down onto the floor here. Babies don't sit on the table."

"Daddy…pweaze…daddy—"

Dean feels himself being lifted off the table into Josh's strong arms. His pants fall to his ankles, showing off his grey Hanes boxer-briefs, but he can't seem to figure out how to pull his jeans back up. Soon he doesn't care. He trys to say something, something really complicated…

"Small words, DeeDee, small words."

"Daddy doana ga daddy…"

Josh smiles and helps Dean lay back on the carpet. His pants were in the corner where they'd fallen off his feet in-transit to the floor.

"Almost done…" Josh says to himself, reaching out and stripping off Dean's underwear. He reaches forward excitedly and grabbed Dean's penis, rubbing it excitedly. Soon the older Winchester is moaning and well into the motion, and then he came. Josh had titled Dean's cock back toward his face, though, so as his dick jerked quickly six times in a row, each shot of cum splattered all over his face, in his eyes and ears and nose and in his hair.

Josh sighs and sits back.

"Time to clean you up…" He went and grabbed a dirty rag before coming back and rubbing it all over Dean's face. And then he reaches out and opens Dean's mouth and shoves the cum-soaked rag in between his slack jaw.

He leaves the room for a minute as the two Winchester brothers, one still standing dumbly in the corner while the other lay staring into nothing, stay where they were. Before too long Josh returns, carrying a bulky bag. He opens it, reaches in, and pulls out a large diaper.

He sits down next to Dean.

"Ok big guy, here we go…" He grabs Dean's hips and lifts his butt into the air for a second as he slips the diaper under him. Taking another moment he begins to rub lotion into his crotch. Finally, he powders Dean's cock and balls before bringing the thick diaper up between his legs.

Standing up, Josh steps back to admire his handiwork:

He turns first to Sam, who was exactly where he'd been left. Just looking at him made Josh horny. He could imagine _so _much to do to this grade-A hunk that seemed to love white briefs. His dick twitched in his jeans.

Promising himself a long afternoon of fun with Sammy, Josh then turns to Dean.

Even though the younger Winchester would provide him more entertainment, really it was Dean who was his masterpiece. After all, he'd taken not even half the day to strip the man of his basic cognizance. There was nothing left now, thanks to Josh, except a really hot guy in a really cute diaper. The man did nothing but lay sprawled on the floor, his well-muscle body in starkly absurd contrast to the white diaper with baby-blue swirls that covered his middle (and which was also heavily-tented by his massive erection). His mouth hung open and his eyes were flat and dull: dumb. The nuerons in his head had withered and died after Josh had triggered his subliminal suggestions, and now the only sparks in Dean's brain were his hormones, ready and eager.

Together, the brothers were going to make his life _a lot_ more interesting.

Somewhere, a phone buzzed. Josh finally found it in one of the pockets of Dean's jeans. The caller ID said "Dad." He rejected the call.

And yet, turning back for another second to admire the two men who he'd tricked and fucked with until they were his dumb jock stud slaves, Josh had no idea of the mistake he'd just made.

After all, Dean always answered his phone. And John had already called Dean. And now John would be worried. And he would come after his boys.

He would _take _them back.

---

_Author's Note: Well, that's it. Enjoy it, hate it: review!_


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